


The Laundry Room

by AngelCaffrey



Category: White Collar
Genre: M/M, Slash, everybody loves laundry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-30
Updated: 2013-05-30
Packaged: 2017-12-13 10:40:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/823369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelCaffrey/pseuds/AngelCaffrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal won't stand for stains.</p><p> </p><p>My first WC fic. It started as a series of random tweets to some friends, and ended up as... this. Originally posted on LJ.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Laundry Room

Neal was bent forward over the machine, meticulously applying stain remover to every offending speck of dirt on the crisply pressed slacks, which were looking somewhat worse for wear after the day Neal and Peter had just had. He didn't hear the door open, or Peter silently move up behind him. The first he knew of Peter's presence was feeling his warmth close behind him, as a strong calloused hand rested on his hip. Even through shirt and undershirt, the heat against his skin made Neal shiver slightly.

 

Peter ran his hand lightly up Neal's flank, revealing precious inches of pale skin as he moved closer, close enough that Neal could feel his breath on the back of his neck. Peter's other hand drifted across Neal's torso, fingers resting on the last button of the long-tailed dress shirt. "You'll be wanting to clean this too, I think...", he murmured, as he slipped the button undone.

 

He slowly slid his hand up, feeling Neal's abdominal muscles flex slightly under his touch as he easily unfastened the next two buttons. Neal's breathing was shallow, his eyes closed. The thumb of the hand that wasn't attempting to divest him of his shirt was rubbing gentle circles on his bare skin, and Neal was no longer thinking about his mud-splattered slacks, or, in fact, anything beyond the hands that were touching him so tenderly, and the definite heat he could feel pooling in his groin.

 

Peter's fingers drifted higher, unfastening buttons in an unexpectedly nimble fashion. Neal pressed sweat-slick palms against the top of the washer. When Peter had released the last button, his fingers ghosted across the hollow at the base of Neal's throat, the latter tilting his head back slightly and leaning into the touch. As Peter slipped the fine cotton shirt from his shoulders, Neal pressed his hips forward, his rapidly hardening cock trapped against the machine, and hardly concealed by his cotton boxers.

 

Peter wrapped one strong arm firmly around Neal's slender waist, pulling the younger man flush against him. He felt Neal shiver, as surely as Neal could now feel Peter's similarly growing erection. Peter's other hand was under Neal's undershirt, brushing against his skin as it slid up towards Neal's nipple. Neal arched under Peter's touch as he tweaked one nipple between those work-roughened fingertips, the slightest of moans escaping his lips.

 

Without warning, Peter used the arm wrapped around Neal to spin him, bringing the two face to face. Neal's eyes flew open. His colour was high, his expression as open as Peter had ever seen it. His lips parted slightly in a gasp as Peter tightened the arm he had around him and squeezed his nipple again. Running his thumb over it one last time, Peter dragged his hand down Neal's torso, over the well-defined muscles of his abdomen, to the waistband of his boxers. As two fingers slipped between the elastic and Neal's smooth skin, the arm wrapped around Neal's waist released, and Peter's hand drifted up Neal's back, grasping him firmly by the back of the neck. Peter pulled Neal towards him, their chests and lips meeting simultaneously.

 

Peter kissed fiercely, and Neal made no effort to stop him, giving in to the strength of the other man and the yearning he had had for this very type of moment. Neal ground his hips forward, knowing Peter was as hard as he was, and, seemingly, from the manner in which he was currently ravaging Neal's mouth, just as desperate for this. Feeling Neal respond beneath him, Peter turned the two of them in one smooth movement, his steps forward pushing Neal backwards until his back collided firmly with the shelves of the linen recess.

 

What was left of Neal's breath was forced from his lungs with the impact, and he gasped, breaking the kiss, only for his newly drawn breath to escape him as a moan when Peter's hand slid into his boxers and over his achingly hard cock. Arching up into Peter's hand, tilting his head back exposing his pale throat as his dark lashes fluttered closed, the picture Neal painted had Peter shockingly close to the edge.

 

Peter worked Neal roughly; the younger man reduced to incoherent whimpers as his knees weakened, the press of the shelves at his back and Peter's body pressed against his the only things stopping him from slumping to the floor. Neal's breath caught in his throat as stars burst behind his eyelids, Peter's name escaping his kiss-swollen lips as he came, shuddering, in Peter's hand.

 

Giving Neal's softening cock a couple more gentle strokes, Peter removed his hand from Neal's boxers, only stepping back when he was certain Neal wouldn't collapse to the floor if he moved. Neal slowly opened his eyes, their sparkling blue bright, but almost entirely swallowed by lust-blown pupils. "As you were", Peter said, turning to exit, leaving Neal to finish his laundry. Peter's own pants were beyond saving.


End file.
